


the things that are deadly

by Lutelyre



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Blood and Torture, Body Horror, Broken Bones, Dark, Darker than I intended, Drabble, Dubious Ethics, Everyone's Favorite Trope, Explicit Language, Gen, Humiliation, Inu is fed up, InuMiro, Inuvember, M/M, Mild Blood, Miroku overuses the wind tunnel, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Suffering, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Title from a Billie Eilish Song, Torture, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019, inumir - Freeform, is inuyasha the original whump or what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 19:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lutelyre/pseuds/Lutelyre
Summary: "The roar of Kazanna is deafening, sucking every sound— roars and wails and groans — away into nothingness."
Relationships: InuYasha/Miroku (InuYasha)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	the things that are deadly

**Author's Note:**

> Two drabbles in one day?! Who am I?! 
> 
> Also, I haven't written for the Inuyasha fandom in... 8+ years? So this is odd. I've started a rewatch of the series, so perhaps y'all can expect a few more drabbles to come from the good old inu-gang!
> 
> This was written for Whumptober 2019, with the prompt "Pinned Down" but it also really runs the gamut for whumpy shit. I've been listening to a lot of Billie Eilish lately, so can you blame me?

The roar of Kazanna is deafening, sucking every sound— roars and wails and groans — away into nothingness. 

A forest is in his hand, a forest and a sky and maybe the world. There’s blood smeared on his face like paint, a dull throbbing in his head, noxious fumes stinging his throat. As everything funnels away, he wonders if whether he opened his mouth and screamed the wind tunnel would catch his voice too, and his breath, and his soul. 

Miroku almost likes that he can hear nothing but the wind, nothing but emptiness yawning great, hungry jaws around him like a beast—and a shivering shame twists in his gut at the feeling. At the end of the day it’s somewhat of a humiliatingly open secret that kazanna is the truth behind behind his power, how he holds his own against any demon or man. He is constantly both fearless and terrified, his unmatchable strength and inevitable failure at once. 

And now he likes that he can’t hear the screaming — human and demon both— as everything hurtles into nothingness. For once, he isn’t holding back. For once, he doesn’t give a damn about the innocents, and it’s strangely easy to not care. Funny, that. 

Maybe he was always pretending. 

But it doesn’t matter, really, because he only needs a few more moments before the tunnel will start to widen beyond his palm, only seconds before the void will creep like a shadow up his arm. It’s so much like release he almost sobs, giving on to the heady, persistent pull lingering under his skin. 

His palm twinges, edges of the endless black rippling like water, and he gasps at the nothingness growing in him, swelling like a wave. He closes his eyes, stretches his fingers. 

“_Miroku—_!” 

It’s funny how he can still hear the half-demon’s voice, piercing the roaring silence like it was easy, a voice sharp and booming like it was made to break barriers and scale cliffs and be _heard_. Inuyasha has always been able to make other people listen. Miroku grins around the pain in his hand at the thought, angles his arm higher. 

“No! Miroku—_stop_!” 

Inuyasha jumps toward him, ripping through the spinning column of wind like it’s only smoke, and then he’s right _there_, too close, torn hakama and wild blood-stained hair and an angry brown face with white, white teeth snarling at Miroku like the dog he is. 

Miroku can’t figure out how the hanyou got under his arm, can’t figure out why he can hear him so clearly — a clear, furious bellow— when every other gasp and groan and shriek has been sucked away. 

It occurs to him vaguely that right now, Inuyasha’s voice is the only one the world. 

It’s a pity Inuyasha isn’t particularly poetic. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He growls, tight and loud and demanding, teeth snapping barely an inch from Miroku’s ear. 

His clawed hand grips Miroku’s wrist as he knocks them over with blunt force, tackles Miroku sideways and pins him down on the ground, bruising. 

Miroku scrabbles frantically in the tangle of their flailing limbs as sound snaps in his ears, cutting from deafening to silent and back in a vacuum. He pushes on Inuyasha’s solid weight, struggling to keep kazanna open, desperation shuddering up his spine—he’d been so _close_— 

“Inuyasha, let me—“ his own voice sounds so small in his ears, a scrap of noise that’s barely there. 

Inuyasha growls against him and it rumbles through his whole body like a grounding anchor. 

“If you think I’m gonna let ya kill yourself, you’ve got another fuckin’ thing coming.” He hisses into Miroku’s ear, low and dark with rage, and his hand tightens further on his wrist, squeezing like a vise—Miroku notices distantly that Inuyasha’s not being careful about his claws, and they’re starting to shred the skin of his forearm to ribbons, sticky with blood. It doesn’t hurt much, yet. 

There’s a sudden, sickening crunch and then something _really_ hurts. 

At first Miroku doesn’t understand, because he can barely tell where he ends and Inuyasha begins, the way they are locked together in a heaving huddle on the ground, the wind howling around them endlessly. 

But like a candle blown out in one breath the wind is suddenly snuffed out, dust settling around them in a faint cloud. Miroku coughs, hoarsely. 

There’s another dulled crunch, louder than the first, and an abruptly piercing yell he realizes he can hear, realizes came from his own lips like it was yanked because the sound was Inuyasha breaking his wrist. 

When he turns his head to look, kazanna is sealed away, his hand dangling from Inuyasha’s bloody fist. The prayer beads are once again wrapped around limp fingers like a mocking smile. He groans heavily, finally stilling, panting hard as his hand begins to numb, a dull ache seeping through him. He feels strangled, wrung out like a wet rag. At least when his forefathers had pushed themselves to the limit, opened the seeking maw of their flesh and waited for the world to end, they’d managed to end it correctly.

Perhaps death only comes to those who don’t want it. 

Inuyasha is hardly winded, and that makes Miroku feel even weaker, helpless. The hanyou drops his wrist, face strangely unreadable, and then without a pause grips Miroku’s elbow and pulls something, _hard_. 

“Ahhggh!” Miroku jerks reflexively as his arm snaps at the joint with a jolting crack, like a spindly twig. A shock of pain lances up his flesh, fierce and bright. He gropes for reality, forces his eyes open. 

“Inuyasha—what are you—stop!” 

“Or what?!” Inuyasha’s eyes meet his own, hard and gold like the blazing sun slung low in a cradle over the horizon behind them. Miroku splutters, words catching in his throat— it suddenly hurts to breathe, he can’t think—and Inuyasha grunts dismissively and roughly shoves him over to drag his now useless arm up behind his back. 

What could he say, anyway? Miroku grits his teeth, struggling again in earnest at the hot flush of agony as Inuyasha pulls up, up, up steadily, like he’s trying to _hurt_, like he wants to _break_— but he’s struck suddenly by the fact that Inuyasha is much stronger than him, and at the end of the day he’s much too weak to resist.

With an ugly, grinding _pop_ and a sharp burst of pain that ricochets through his bones, his shoulder dislocates.

“Wait—Arraggh!” Miroku twists and spasms, back arching, and realizes Inuyasha’s planted a knee at the base of his spine, immobilizing him. He’s splayed wide in the dirt. 

“What—oh _gods_—what are you doing?!” A dull, aching numbness is leaking down his arm, icy and thin like water spilled from a flask. He gasps for breath. 

“You’ve got real nerve to be askin’ me questions, monk.” Inuyasha almost spits the words. “What the fuck were _you_ doing!?” 

There’s an insistent ringing in Miroku’s ears, as if he’s stood for too long on top of a mountain. He wonders dimly to himself if he’s ever seen Inuyasha angry at him, really, truly angry. 

“I—I don’t know what you— _shit_!!” 

He’s cut off as the heel of Inuyasha’s foot smashes onto his splayed fingers forcefully, and there’s a piercing crack as he feels at least one of the delicate knuckle-bones shatter. 

There’s a sharp, mocking laugh, like a bark. “What’s the matter? Does it _hurt_?” 

Inuyasha crouches over him, one knee over his hips and a claw-tipped hand tight on the back of his neck, pinning his head to the dirt. He feels close, so close, a live-wire heat to his body that radiates deep into Miroku’s skin through his robes where they are pushed together, as he scrambles and heaves under Inuyasha, struggling not to whimper in pain. 

Inuyasha’s foot grinds down into his hand, and the tender chips of bone jostle against each other nauseatingly. 

Miroku gags, cold sweat dripping over his brow, barely manages to speak. “Uggh—Inu—yasha, w-why are you—doing this—!?” 

The fist in his hair yanks his head up and back, arching his neck, and from the corner of his eye Miroku notices a dull red mark on Inuyasha’s forearm, burned raw by the holy prayer beads when forcefully re-sealing the wind tunnel. He shivers. No human would be wounded by the protective string, and it’s strange how he’s still shocked to realize, again and again, just how eerily inhuman Inuyasha can become, just how dangerous. 

“Maa—Miroku, don’t act so confused.” Inuyasha sounds almost amused, but a heavy undercurrent of menace stains his tone black. Miroku is cornered by it, an easy target squirming on the ground. 

“Didn’t I say next time you went too far I’d break your damn arm off!?” 

With a jolt, Miroku remembers that battle, although he tries not too—Inuyasha bellowing at him, belligerently incensed but also just so damn _captivating_, hair whipping wildly in the roaring wind, bright gold eyes catching his gaze like a spell—or a curse—as he knocks Miroku off his guard. After the fighting was over Miroku lay panting in the dark crater of his father’s grave, and wondered if perhaps somehow, something in his world had irreversibly changed. 

Now a vicious, knife-like terror hurdles up his spine at Inuyasha’s words, but Miroku’s whole life has been an exercise in bravado, one false claim after another and another, and so fear twists in his throat and breaks his lips wrapped in anger. “You f-fucker, you—_wouldn’t_.” 

Inuyasha snorts dismissively, wraps his fingers more tightly in Miroku’s hair and pulls his head back further, leans in. “Hell yes, I would. And d’you know why?” 

Miroku jerks against him, jarring his screaming shoulder, hips bucking, but Inuyasha holds firm, snarling a warning. “Because you need to learn to be more scared for your own skin, monk.” 

Miroku sags, something like a sob in his throat, unable to focus on anything but Inuyasha—his voice, his body wrapped around Miroku like a glove that fits too well, too much, too soon. He shudders violently when he feels Inuyasha’s claws on his shoulder again, on his arm. 

The half-demon’s mouth presses to his ear, breath hot, fangs skimming his neck like a promise. “It’s going to hurt a lot more by the time I’m done with ya.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you think! To me this was pretty blatant with UST but if you read it as platonic, I'd be interested to know! We love a dark!inu in this household.


End file.
